Daydream Believer
by anonwhat
Summary: Harry wants revenge, and he wants to watch.


Title: Daydream Believer

Rating: R

Beta: simeysgirl

A/N: Written for hp_humpdrabbles humpfest 2011 over at livejournal using the prompts voyeur, Quidditch Pitch and Daydream Charm.

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><p>He was showing off again. Stupid bloody Malfoy. He had charmed his candlestick to sing, as the class had been instructed to do, but the cocky bastard couldn't leave it at that. No. He had charmed his candlestick to go around and <em>serenade<em> everyone in the room. It was disgusting, really, but Professor Flitwick was eating it up. He had clapped excitedly and complimented Malfoy on his excellent spell work.

Harry had managed to get his lampshade to sing, but Flitwick had barely paid it any attention. Admittedly it was singing Backstreet Boys songs out of tune, but that was hardly the point.

Ron had done even worse, having only been able to coax a throaty wail from his gravy boat.

"Gravy boats are harder to charm than candlesticks," he had said. "Everybody knows that."

Harry had agreed whole-heartedly with him, even though he knew it was a blatant lie.

As he waited for the last lesson of the day to finish, Harry hummed along with his lampshade to "Backstreet's Back", sitting low in his chair and watched Malfoy parade his illustrious candlestick about the room. He had even had it perform a skit for Hermione which had made her _giggle_, and that was just wrong on so many levels. Harry could only be grateful that Malfoy had not bothered him with the stupid thing. Even as he thought about that fact, he could feel himself pouting.

It was when Harry witnessed Parkinson smile sickly sweet and flutter her eyelashes at Malfoy as his candlestick sang "How Deep Is Your Love" to her that he decided it had gone too far. Harry narrowed his eyes at the way Malfoy threw his head back and laughed so freely at Parkinson's attentions while he thought about what to do.

That was when Hermione's gaudy vase began singing "Daydream Believer" rather loudly, giving Harry the inspiration he needed.

Grinning, Harry raised his wand and, while for all the world he looked to be pointing it at his lampshade, he trained it very carefully across the room at Malfoy.

"_Me Videt Somnium_," he whispered.

"Did you say something, Harry?" asked Hermione from beside him.

"Nope, nothing," he said quickly. "Just wishing my lampshade knew some Queen."

Harry didn't miss the knowing smile Hermione gave him at that statement, but chose to ignore it. Instead he carried on watching Malfoy, whose candlestick had ceased its performing. Harry felt a smug satisfaction at the slightly glazed look that Malfoy's eyes had taken, and couldn't help but wonder exactly what was now going on in his mind.

When Flitwick dismissed the class 10 minute later, Harry made sure to stick close behind Malfoy and his gang on his way out the door.

"Let's go back to the common room for a while before dinner," said Parkinson as she clung to Malfoy's arm. "I have some interesting things to tell you about what I overheard in Transfiguration today."

"Actually," replied Malfoy dazedly, "I think I'll… go for a walk."

"A walk?" questioned Parkinson. "Why?"

Malfoy simply shrugged, prised his arm away from his friend and made his way towards the large oak doors in the Entrance Hall.

"See you at dinner," he called vaguely over his shoulder as he exited the castle.

Interested to see how his plan turned out, Harry turned his attention to his own friends and saw that Hermione and Ron were engaged in a heated discussion-cum-argument about the merits of charming inanimate objects to sing versus the merits of going to dinner. Harry fed them a line about getting some flying in before he ate, which he knew they didn't really listen to anyway, before jogging across the Entrance Hall, out into the grounds and after Malfoy.

Harry caught up with Malfoy as he approached the Quidditch pitch, but hung back enough so that he wouldn't be seen. Instead of walking out onto the pitch, or even to the broom shed, as Harry would have expected him to, Malfoy simply stood at the edge of the Quidditch pitch. He was gazing up at the sky, his head gently moving from side to side, as though he were watching people flying in the air.

Just as Harry was considering creeping closer to get a better look at Malfoy's face, Malfoy turned around and began retracing his steps. Harry was shocked and intrigued to see a small, shy smile on Malfoy's face and once again wished he knew what Malfoy was thinking about.

Instead of heading back to the castle, Malfoy turned and made his way under the Quidditch pitch stands. Hesitating for only a moment, Harry dashed in after him, being sure to keep quiet. It was quite dark under the stands, the only light seeping through between the levels of seats that rose above.

The ground was soft under Harry's feet and he safely followed Malfoy without being heard. After walking far enough under the stands to not be seen from the entrance, Malfoy stopped and leaned back against a wooden support. Harry remained a little further back, behind some supports of his own, and watched.

Thin strips of light from above crossed over Malfoy's face as he closed his eyes and relaxed. Harry took the opportunity to study his face. It was calm, with such smooth pale skin all the way from Malfoy's forehead right down to where it disappeared under the collar of his shirt. Harry had the unbridled urge to touch that skin. With his fingertips, lips and tongue.

Before the thoughts were even fully formed in Harry's mind, Malfoy was lifting one of his hands. He brought it close to his face and gently traced his fingers down his cheek, across his jaw and over his lips. A more prominent smile pulled at Malfoy's lips before he tipped his head back, running his fingers slowly down his own neck.

Harry could hear the exhalation of air as Malfoy's hand continued on its south-bound journey down his own chest. Malfoy's other hand remained at his side, though balled into a fist, as though it took great effort to prevent it from joining the other in its exploration.

Feeling his own hands twitch with want, Harry shoved them in to his pockets and bit his lower lip. Malfoy's breathing was increasing as he pulled at his shirt and untucked it from the waistband of his trousers. A low moan escaped Malfoy's lips as his hand brushed softly against the skin of his stomach.

When Malfoy's unoccupied hand finally gave up the struggle and joined its partner in unbuckling Malfoy's belt, so Harry's hands gave up theirs. His left hand Harry moved up to cover his mouth, not wanting to risk unpreventable sounds of astonishment giving him away. His right hand Harry used to palm the erection in his trousers, trying to find some semblance of release without resorting to desperate measures, and willing his body to calm down.

In no time at all Malfoy had his trousers pushed down to mid-thigh, his balls clutched in one hand, his cock in the other. His head was thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, as he stoked himself with deliberation. Harry made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, thankful for the hand he had—now painfully—clamped over his mouth.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, wanting a few seconds to compose himself, but this only caused the sounds Malfoy was making to intensify in his ears. Desperately, Harry bit down on his hand in an effort to distract himself from the heat suddenly filling his groin. So sure he was about to come in his trousers, Harry had no way of preventing the whimper that made its way out of his mouth.

"Harry!"

Hearing his own name being cried out, Harry snapped open his eyes immediately, positive he had been caught. Instead, he saw Malfoy, eyes still tightly shut, with his had moving so fast over his penis it was a blur. Within seconds Malfoy had arched away from the wooden support at his back and into his hand. The evidence of his orgasm shot from his cock and into the air, coming to land on Malfoy's chest, hand and the ground below.

"Harry," sighed Malfoy again as his body eased and relaxed once again.

Shocked was not the word. Harry was flabbergasted. He had meant for Malfoy to experience an embarrassingly romantic daydream about him, in revenge for the sappy songs Malfoy had made him endure during their Charms lesson. He had _not_ meant for Malfoy to have an erotic daydream about him. Harry didn't understand how that had happened.

Harry was also amazed at how calm Malfoy seemed about the whole thing. He was simply standing there, leaning against the wooden support, eyes still closed. His breathing was slowly returning to normal as he came back down from his orgasm, but he didn't seem ashamed about the fact that he had just masturbated to thoughts of Harry. Or how he had just come while calling Harry's _name._

Brow furrowed in confused contemplation, Harry physically jumped when Malfoy opened his eyes and looked straight at Harry.

"Did you enjoy the show?" asked Malfoy.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but could think of nothing to say that wouldn't humiliate him further, so he quickly closed it again.

Smiling, Malfoy pulled up his trousers, though he didn't bother doing them up. He slowly made his way over to Harry. Harry wanted to turn tail and run, but every cell in his body froze. He looked Malfoy in the eye as he approached, but could not name the emotion he saw there.

When Malfoy was merely inches away from Harry his grey eyes broke away from Harry's to glance down at Harry's obvious arousal.

"I think you _did_ enjoy the show, didn't you?"

Harry whimpered again as Malfoy leaned in and ghosted his lips across Harry's. He closed his eyes in a fruitless bid to block out the sensations. He was still dangerously close to coming, and Malfoy's proximity was only exacerbating the problem. A carefully placed touch, kiss or even _word_ at this point would have had Harry soiling his boxer shorts.

"I don't know what you did to me," whispered Malfoy against Harry's mouth, "but I think it's time for some payback."

When Malfoy's hand grasped confidently around his erection, Harry's eyes flew open of their own accord and—

He blinked.

It was suddenly much brighter than it had been under the Quidditch stands. As Harry's eyes strained to get used to the change in brightness he began to register the noises that hadn't been audible a moment ago. There was a general low level chatter and—distinctively—the sound of someone singing.

"_Cheer up, sleepy Jean, oh what can it mean..._"

Shaking himself back to reality quickly, Harry gazed around the classroom until he spotted Hermione's ugly vase not far away.

Confused, and more than a little anxious, Harry forced himself to raise his head and look across the room at Malfoy. The candlestick was still singing to a still swooning Parkinson, but Malfoy's eyes rested solely on Harry.

Harry didn't know whether to be mortified or furious. Instead he found himself blushing and dipping his head coyly as Malfoy smiled at him knowingly.

When the lesson ended 10 minutes later Harry dashed out ahead of everyone, muttering a brief excuse to his best friends. He was eager to get away, though he had no idea where he was headed.

In the end he made his way out of the large oak doors of the Entrance Hall and down through the grounds to the Quidditch pitch.

All the time well aware of the man following him.

- End -


End file.
